


The Silent Bat and her Birds

by Multifandom_damnation



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Ballet, Cass is 100 percent Jasons fave sibling, Cass just wants her family to be happy, Gen, Happy Birthday Beautiful Stell, also, i know nothing about ballet but i tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: "Cass spun and twirled and leapt across the hardwood floor, spinning with her head thrown back and her hands in the air. Her tunic, the midnight black of her leotard and the matching frock turning her into a speeding crow, a dancing bat."The birds in the nest have feathers falling out and cries going unheard within the vast expanse of their nest- the Manor- and it's up to the silent bat to gather up their feathers and patch them back together- even the bigger bat with broken wings, but she was ready to fix him too.





	The Silent Bat and her Birds

Cass spun and twirled and leapt across the hardwood floor, spinning with her head thrown back and her hands in the air. Her tunic, the midnight black of her leotard and the matching frock turning her into a speeding crow, a dancing bat.

Her toes burned that familiar and comforting burn as she jumped to their tips, raising her leg above her head. Her heartbeat matched the music, her breathing matching the crescendos and the melodies, her soul soaring like she did in the deep black of night and reaching her to the rafting of the ballet room in the Manor.

The final song came to the end, and she bent her body down as the music came to a stop. She unwrapped her hands, the chafing bandage leaving red marks on her skin, the leftover white dust peeling off with it. She flexed her fingers, rolled her wrists, sat down and untied her flats, cracked her toes, stood up. The floor was cold under her feet, a brief relief to the mild burning her feet had become.

She left the room, stretching her arms above her head. She heard snoring as she left, and found Stephanie asleep on the couch, her feet draped lazily over the smooth velvet as an indignation to Bruce’s rules, her hair in messy tangles around her head, headphones blaring loud music over her ears. She had a bruise on her chin, one that was old and yellowing from a scrap a few patrols ago, scratches on her cheeks, above her eye. There was a band-aid on her nose- a Sleeping Beauty one, and Cass couldn’t help but laugh at how fitting it was- and they all knew it wasn’t  _really_  broken, but Steph liked the act.

Cass crouched down next to her, gently pulling some of the hair away from her face, breaking off some strands that had gotten irremovably caught in her headphones, and watched her snore. She was drooling, and Cass used her towel to wipe it away. It was cold in this room, she realised, much colder than the rest of the house and definitely much colder than her workout room, so she dug through the old mahogany box for a blanket. She put it over her sister, who snorted and turned over, snoring once again. Cass laughed as she made her way through the rest of the house.

Half asleep and in a too-big red jacket, Cass found Tim in the kitchen, nursing what seemed to be his 5th cup of coffee, almost snoring like his girlfriend and swaying where he stood. His fingers were bruised, his knuckles a darker shade of bruise than the one on Stephanie. His hair was hanging long in his red-rimmed eyes, and his cheeks were a bright shade of rose. Cass reached over and pulled the mug away from his lips, pointed at his hands, head tilted in question.

“Oh,” he mumbled quietly, rubbing one set of fingers over the other. There was dried blood caked under his nails. “Patrol. Don’t worry about it.” He turned, reached behind him to place another mug under the machine and turn it to the ‘Hot Chocolate’ setting, and when it answered him with a loud series of beeps, he pressed a button and warm hot chocolate poured out. They sat in silence for a while, quietly sipping their drinks with their backs against the kitchen counter. They were together in peaceful solidarity until Cass tipped her mug back so there was nothing left, gave Tim a hug, placed her cup in the sink and danced off towards the rest of the house.

She found Barbara then, much more awake than the others, stylish in her bright green dress with the sequins, her wheelchair a bright, polished mech. Her hair was tied up in twists and loops and a bobby-pin mess, and as Cass looked over her half-lidded eyes, she was wearing blue makeup, red lips, black lashes. She was only the phone, but looked up and smiled as Cass bounded in and stopped at the doorway, mouth open in awe. “Yeah Kate, I’ll be there soon.” Barb laughed, brushing a stay hair out of her face. “Yeah, bye. Talk soon.” She hung up the phone, placed it in her glittery clutch bag and turned her chair around to face Cass. “How are you, Cassie? How was your session?”

Instead of answering, Cass dived forward on her knees towards Barbara, running her fingers gently over the fabric, amazement in her eyes, and she looked up at her in pure wonder. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask, but Barbara laughed, ran her fingers through her hair. “There’s a gala on tonight.” She explained “and I’ve been asked to go. Dad’s working, and Bruce ‘isn’t feeling well’ -she said that with a roll of her eyes, and Cass grinned- so I’m going as a representative. Normally Dick would go for Bruce, but he’s on patrol tonight and Bruce is already mad at him.” Barbara’s phone rang again, a parody of police sirens, and she rolled her eyes. “It’s dad,” she sighed, reaching back into the clutch. “Probably warning me to be careful. I’ll talk to you later.” Cass grinned and darted away, spinning around the corner.

Feeling a buzzing from her pocket, Cass stopped short to out her phone, look down at the screen. A message from Jason, a  _rare_  message from Jason, that simply said: “ _Window_.” Cass grinned a devious grin, sprinting up the stairs to her bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind her, made her way over to the window. She flipped the latch on the wide panes, and Jason swung his legs inside, took off his helmet and sat it on the window sill. His leather jacket was wet- Cass couldn’t tell in the light if it was from rain, from sweat, or from blood but she honestly didn’t care- and his hair was flattened, the white streak in his fringe an almost blinding contrast form the rest of his raven’s nest. Even from here, he smelled of gunpowder and cigarette smoke, the familiarity burning her nose.

Most importantly, in his hands, he carried a freshly baked box of doughnuts, the box bright pink, the doughnuts still steaming. She gasped, clasped her hands together in delight as she gently took the box from him, placed it on her nightstand. There was an even  _rarer_  look of slight fondness in his eyes, and he looked as though he was about to say something else but his name was whisper-yelled from the courtyard, Roy and Kori waiting downstairs, and Jason pulled Cass in, ruffled her hair and kissed her on the head before he scooped up his helmet and dived back into the darkness. She sat on her bed and scoffed one of the doughnuts before wiping her hands on a napkin so Alfred didn’t see, sliding the box under her bed and making her way back out into the hall.

She found Damian next, and Alfred, in the library. The door was ajar, and Cass poked her head in, smiled at Alfred bent over a sleeping Damian, curled up in his father’s favourite leather chair, a book open on his lap. His jeans were ripped, holes poked into the fraying hems and his runners a dust brown from mud. Alfred was leaning over him with a blanket, Titus jumping up onto the ottoman and lying at Damian’s feet. After picking the book up and marking its page, Alfred retrieved his feather duster and continued polishing the shelves from dust.

Cass isn’t used to Damian quiet, isn’t used to him peaceful. When he’s not a loud, angry ball of sharp barb-like words and razor-sharp intelligence, he’s quiet. Cass almost sneaks into the library to watch, watch him sit silently as the world goes on around him, but she knows that Alfred will find her eventually and if Damian ever found out she’d be in  _big_  trouble, so she quietly closed the door and slunk further into the Manor.

A memory popped into her head, and she sprinted around to the lounge in search of Harper and Cullen, probably bored out of their  _minds_  in the sitting room, waiting for someone to talk to, someone to laugh with. When she flung open the door, Cullen was balancing a pile of pillows on his sister’s head, a tray filled with the ornate glasses Bruce keeps in the china cabinet, locked, piled in a pyramid in her outstretched hands. The loud  _bang_  of the door hitting the stopper on the wall made her jump, and the tray began to wobble in Harper’s hands. Cass rushed forwards and took it from her and with a  _task_ , she put the tray down gently on the china cabinet.

Cullen was laughing as Harper stood to help her put away the glasses, fist to his mouth to muffle the sound. “We got kicked out of the cave,” he explained, finding all the fallen pillows and putting them back at the edges of the couch. “We were trying to upgrade the Bat-computer, and then he and Dick came down and started shouting, so he sent us out.” Cass paused, one hand in the cabinet, glass clinking against the rings on her fingers. Cullen met her gaze. “Maybe you should go and check on them?” With a nod and a silent thanks, Cass slipped past them to the Batcave as Cullen helped his sister put the glasses back.

Tip-toeing her way down the staircases and the catwalk, Cass listened out for the sounds of arguing, the gruff voice of Bruce and the angry-shaking voice of Dick wafting up from the centre of the cave as she made her way to the landing, looking down at the scene before her. The Batmobile had its driver’s door open, a black bag was thrown in. Dick was in his Nightwing suit, a mere second away from climbing on his bike and leaving, but Bruce- Batman, in his jet-black suit and angry tone, not their father, not now- gripped his wrist like a drowning man would a rope, holding tight enough that Dick couldn’t wrench himself free.

Cass couldn’t understand what they were saying, not really, but she could hear the fury in their voices, the hatred in her brother’s eyes and the determination in her fathers and she turned. She sprinted up towards her dance room, past her sleeping brother and the other drowning in coffee, past her sister in the dress of diamonds and the one disobeying Bruce’s rules to push her way through the door and throw on her shoes, quickly tying up the felt and lacing her fingers. She’s never gotten to take off her leotard, the frock, and saved herself time by tying her hair back and grabbing the speaker, bolting back the way she’d come.

Her feet padded quietly towards the cave, speaker a heavy weight in her hand, the door to the Batcave sliding open easily. No one heard her as she walked to the catwalk, a wrongful walking a plank, and placed the speaker on the walkway closet to her family. They were still arguing, voices loud and deep, and Cass raised her hands high above her head and pressed the play button with her toe.

_Dance of the Little Swans_  boomed through the cave, startling both Dick and Bruce, who ceased their arguing to look up at Cass. Her arms were raised high, her back straight, on the tips of her toes.

She spun and pranced and leapt through the cave, landing on the bottom floor was a flourish, her skirts twisting around her like a cyclone of darkness, her back arching, legs straight, arms out, head held high in the face of the raging storm, so full of wrath, and with a crescendo she twirled once more and paused, breathing hard in front of her family.

The room filled with silence, eyes stared at her in surprise, some love mixed in. Dick was the first to break, sliding towards her and wrapping her in a tight hug. “That was amazing Cass!” He gushed, holding her head in his hands. “Have you been practising that?”

Cass nodded and glared at Bruce, who looked down at the ground, getting her message. She grabbed Dick’s hand, dragged him towards the catwalk, beckoning for Bruce to follow.

“Where are we going, Cass?” Dick asked, pausing to pick up her speaker. “We have patrol.”

Without answering, she kept walking, towards the upper floors filled with snoring birds and dazzling birds, clumsy and bored birds, sneaky birds and sleepy birds, and made her way with the bat and the brave bird in toe, filling their nest with the warm sense of familiarity and love.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to the beautiful Stell!


End file.
